


Demon From Below

by TheBlackSaintAndTheSinnerLady



Category: Dark Souls, RWBY, dark souls 3
Genre: Dialogue free I guess, F/M, Implied knavery, Not much happens but more might, Short and a bit sweet, Style Over Substance, Stylistic Experimentation, full of love-fuelled bedlam, of a sort, pretty words because me likey, the best kind
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-03
Updated: 2019-07-03
Packaged: 2020-06-03 13:41:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19465162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBlackSaintAndTheSinnerLady/pseuds/TheBlackSaintAndTheSinnerLady
Summary: Jaune was at her side, the loyal, beautiful boy, besmirched in dirt and grime, and handsomer than she'd ever seen him.Pyrrha only saw what clung to the window for an instant, calcified flesh and seething magma for blood and bone-white eyes.(A pretty short story: a familiar Demon saves Pyrrha's life)





	Demon From Below

The city was burning. 

In reds and oranges--sardonic, autumn colours--dusty ash under her boots and twinkling cinders swaying on air. Ozpin’s tower stood tall and proud before her, green eye twinkling as Vale died. 

Unhappy days. 

Something tugged her to the top of that tower - destiny? She didn’t know. 

Fuck. Pyrrha didn’t ever swear. 

Fuck. 

Her hands were bloodless-white-tight around Milo--a soft but firm grip is essential, relaxed and strong--and Akouo hung heavy on her back. 

Jaune was at her side, the loyal, beautiful boy, besmirched in dirt and grime, and handsomer than she’d ever seen him. Pyrrha had fought and taught him for months, and she thought she loved him now, for the ill-tempered and clumsy man he was becoming. 

So she stopped his frantic words with a kiss, and shoved him into a locker. He’d live, if she wouldn’t. 

Jaune shrieked in fury as she tapped at the keypad, slamming his fists against the door and roaring her name. A shame she’d never hear him roar her name in intimate circumstances. 

Pyrrha frowned at the thought. Panic and shock brought strange thoughts.

She was going to die. 

A clear mind made or broke a warrior, so as Jaune was flung into the sky she wiped her lips of his taste and swept her mind of thoughts of him. She needed focus, not love. Unfortunately. 

The weighty tower’s doors broke easy under Polarity, and so did the elevator. She gave herself time for one deep breath, and then she was rocketing upwards, metal shrieking-screeching as elevator met tilted wall. No going down, with the chute ruptured and torn like that. 

Which was good. No excuses. 

I might just die. 

The elevator crashed against the top of the shaft and she held it there. The doors screamed unhappily as they opened, and in the center of Ozpin’s room, lounging against his desk, was a pretty lady in a red dress. Her eyes glowed livid. A dragon’s face peered through the window behind her. 

Pyrrha nearly hesitated. A dragon. 

She flung Milo with a roar, and as the woman turned and stepped to the left all the windows in the tower broke. The woman staggered. 

The sound came a second later and Pyrrha cried out in turn, clapping her hands over her ears. So did the red woman.

It was a rusted and trembling screech that burst from coarse vocal chords, warbling and like serrated knife on bone, full of such inhuman hatred that Pyrrha felt it in her chest. Shards of glass opened cuts in her dwindling aura. 

Pyrrha and the woman looked to the dragon, suspect, but it’s eyes were small, scared and in a second it was ripped from the window and tossed aside like a child’s plaything. Pyrrha only saw what clung to the window for a moment, calcified flesh and seething magma for blood and bone-white eyes. 

A sinewed hand threw the woman in red from the tower, flesh burning black furrows in the floor. It vanished from the window in a blink, trailing red fire and shrieking hearts out. Pyrrha ran to the window, Milo called to her hand. 

The Grimm--Dragon--so large and black, nearly as tall as the tower, and much broader than the winged thing in red, split it’s jaw, a glow simmering down it’s gullet. But it’s eyes were shot-wide, and the red-thing sprang forwards and ripped it apart down the jawline, twisting its neck in half to bathe in black blood. 

The dragon was dead. Strong and slow, and not angry enough. 

The woman who would’ve killed her was breathing fire, weaving it in swoops and ribbons above her head; Pyrrha thanked her gods she hadn’t fought her, because she’d never stood a chance. She nearly fell to her knees, as she’d see Jaune and Nora and Ren and Ruby again, and she didn’t think she’d ever been full of such relief. 

The woman in Red screamed - bathed the demon in fire of all colours, thick yellow and focused blue and seething white. Buildings melted into sludge. Pyrrha felt sweat bead her neck, hundreds of metres from the storm. 

The monster burst from the cloud glowing ever-brighter, and the Woman didn’t have time to scream before it wrapped it’s jaws around her legs and pulled. 

She toppled from the sky trailing bright blood, spinning like a top. 

The monster tipped it’s head to the sky and crowed, standing amongst the ash and sludge; holed wings spread wide as it swallowed the woman's legs. 

From that stark moment, a demon dripping burning blood, the night was blurred. She dropped from the tower into the fray, wading through Grimm whose mouths were bloodstained. Ruby and Weiss were there, at some point, and the little silver-eyed girl almost cried when she saw Pyrrha alive.

There were tin-can soldiers too, red-faced Atlesians who’d somehow been turned. They died in sparks about as easily as the Grimm. 

The night came and went. The city wasn’t reclaimed but it was empty now, of Grimm and of people. The Demon had killed all, and had turned half the city into a rubble-strewn dreg-heap. It flew into the sky as the sun rose. To Pyrrha’s knowledge, the woman in red was never found. Neither was Ozpin. 

She clung tightly to her team as she found them at the loading docks, Ren smiling wide and Nora sobbing loudly. The last batches of civilians were leaving the city, guarded by Huntsman. Yang lay against a pillar, right arm missing from the elbow down. Blake’s middle was wrapped with bandage. Her eyes were red with tears. 

Jaune walked into the docks hours after.

He punched Pyrrha across the face as she ran to him, and wouldn’t let Nora or Ren or even Ruby touch him. He kept one hand over his eyes, claiming an injury, but wouldn’t let healer's touch him either. He was upset, and wouldn’t talk to Pyrrha. 

So she sat with Ren and Nora--as Jaune paced about, lips tight and curled and furious--, hugged herself tight. 

Hours after, both teams on board a Bullhead heading west, he came to her. Pressed his forehead against her strong and bruised shoulders, and cried his eyes out. 

Pyrrha wrapped her sore arms around him and held him tight, whispering in his ear. Apologising. 

She loved him. 

She thought he might love her.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for read, then. 
> 
> hi!


End file.
